


Worship

by sea_sighs



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: M/M, fallen angel!au, slowburn probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_sighs/pseuds/sea_sighs
Summary: “Don’t you want to know why, mi querido, I know so much about demons?” Marcus smiles without it reaching his eyes. There’s something sharp about that smile, something that pulls the breath out Tomas’ lungs and burns it right between his ribs. 
  “Yes.”   Marcus’ smile grows wider.  A fallen angel! AU





	1. The devil you know

The sound of Marcus’ ragged breaths fills the room until it is all that Tomas hears. Until is all that Tomas can think about.

There’s something savage- his mind struggles through the fog- there’s something savage in the way Marcus kneels before him, with his chest heaving and his head thrown back. Something sacrilegious that forces Tomas to turn his head away, forces him to close his eyes. The stench of thick coppery blood clogs his nose and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep the bile in.

 _You should run while you can._ His minds whispers, mocking. _Run far far away._

“Tomas”

And Tomas is suddenly helpless. His eyes snap open to see Marcus’ standing figure. He doesn’t notice how blood still drips from his fingers, or how the crescent marks of fingernails decorate his forearms. Tomas just looks to his eyes and it is like two pictures dissolving into each other. The man who stands before him and the man he knows.

“Help me.”

And he does.

-

They dump the body into the local river, a shadow swallowed up cleanly in the dark waters. Marcus lingers on the lip of the pier, scuffing the wood, before returning to Tomas’ side. They start up the car in absolute silence. A slide of a key, twist and a click and then the ignition. The car is old, and it rumbles in inopportune times, convenient though for something like this. His mind’s response is manic, it surges up, and becomes one glaring thought.

_nothing will ever be like this._

It is only until they’ve passed the halfway point to Tomas’ home, does Tomas even deign to speak and even then it’s a whisper.

“Did you kill him?”

Marcus tilts his head at him.

“What do you think?”

“I do not know what to think anymore” Tomas hisses, furious. He breathes hard through his nostrils.

His fingers clench at the steering wheel, his feet itch to press the pedal, to move faster, to go. At least that way he wouldn’t have to think of this mess. But he throws a glance to Marcus’ direction and sees that his hand is pressing a cloth against the cut on his forehead. An emotion similar to pity twists inside of Tomas, it chews the inside of his cheek until suddenly he blurts out

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had worse”

Tomas shakes his head, clenches his jaw.

“That is not an answer. It is also a cliché”

“Oh so the priest _does_ have a personality?”

Tomas slams his feet on the brake pedal and the car screeches to a stop. He is lucky that there is no one on the street to witness this. In a blink his hands are on Marcus’ front, wrenching him up to face him. Tomas’ voice shakes with the anger. It tears up his throat and puts steel instead of bones in his fists.

“You explain or you get out.” He speaks and it is low and scraping “I don’t have time for this.”

Marcus tilts his head, considering. His blue eyes catch the streetlight as he pushes closer into the space between them. So close Tomas can feel each inhale each exhale Marcus takes.

“Right now, talking about it isn’t going to make that vessel less dead. Given the fact that some of them are following us right now I suggest you drive. And drive quickly”

Tomas almost growls and let’s go of Marcus’ shirt.

He wonders absently whether it would sinful to break a few traffic laws to get back home. Tomas finds out fairly quickly that he does not care.

-

Someday Tomas will be glad that Marcus broke into his house. Someday he will be glad that Marcus placed wards on every door. But that day will not be today. 

Anger simmers below the surface of his skin, burns hot through his veins and buries itself in his chest. He closes his eyes and breathes deep full breaths.

When he opens them again it is to the sight of Marcus’ back. He is pulling the fabric of his blood crusted shirt over his head, doing it slowly, almost painfully slow. But the effort of doing so is futile. From here Tomas can see the deep angry welts bleed anew. Tomas doesn’t realise he’s staring until Marcus winces.

A strange compulsion overcomes Tomas and he floats towards Marcus. With his hands he stills Marcus arms, and with cautious fingers begins to drag the shirt over. It feels like an eternity, pulling the fabric up, watching the sinew shift beneath him. It feels like lightning when it’s over, too fast, too hot. Too close. His stomach churns with heat that fills the space between them and his nerves are stripped raw. Tomas cannot get away fast enough.

He moves with quick decisive steps into the kitchen, one part to regain some familiar grounding and one part to stall. The tips of his fingers tingle with the residual warmth, and anger, as quickly as it was gone, comes back sweeping and swallowing him full. Tomas hates himself for it.

How could he think of this? How could he so easily forget the gored face of a man who he helped dispose of? He would've gotten sick if he hadn't already. The lolling head, mouth wide open, the smell. Tomas doesn't wonder if he would do it again. Because he knows he could. Can. Have already done. Was he insane to only ask why.

It is only moments when the answer appears before him. 

“Tomas?”

God he wants to throw glass against the wall. It would be so easy. He would see it shatter, splinter, break. He would feel some sort of satisfaction curl into him. Tomas instead presses his nails into his palm.

“Are you okay?”

His throat wants to shout until his chest, his lungs, give out. He clenches his jaw instead.

“Tomas, what is going on?”

God he is terrified.

“Did you kill him?” His voice is like thin ice but it cuts. For just a moment there is silence.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“ _Demons_ like those-“

“You mean people!” Tomas slams his hand down on the counter “people who were just like us!”

“Demons like them, don’t stop. Won’t stop.” Marcus grounds out and the lights flicker as the train rumbles past. The words he speaks is low and angry and urgent. “Now I’m not sure what fantasy you live in, but there are two types of possession in this world. That man didn’t fight, that man opened his arms to embrace it.”

“How can you be so certain? How can you say killing is fine?”

And suddenly the room drops a few degrees. The lights stop flickering and Tomas can clearly see what expression Marcus is wearing.

It twists, then snaps, and Marcus’ is suddenly laughing, bitter. The sound of it falls dully into the air.

“How would I know? Oh darling, I think I would know the face of my priest when I saw him”


	2. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! As always I hope you guys enjoy :)

The world rarely quietens.

But it happens then.

A still and pure silence that stretches and stretches and stretches. If Marcus wasn’t splattered in  
blood, if he didn’t just help commit a murder, Tomas might’ve paused to take it fully in. He surprises himself when he breaks it.

“He chose his fate?”

Marcus breathes the answer out as if it takes him all his strength to.

_“yes.”_

And maybe it does. For a split second there's something there, something in Marcus’ expression that makes Tomas pause. A whole history, bloodied and ugly and to ask him would be to break him.

Tomas wants to.

“That isn’t good enough”

A long pause.

“What do you want me to say, Tomas?”

“That _this_ is not the only reason.”

Marcus looks at him then, really looks at him, his unnerving eyes locked to his own. There is nothing that Tomas can read in them, they’re blue and harsh under this light. He has to force himself not move, to stay exactly still while his heart pounds in his chest.

Then Marcus cracks and Tomas watches as he folds.

He sucks in his breath through gritted teeth. Shakes his head to a side, his hand dragging across his mouth. He closes his eyes.

“I killed him because I was scared. Of what he meant. Of what he could bring.”

Marcus exhales slowly before looking back at Tomas, before speaking again.

_“I need you to trust me on this. I need you to understand that-“_

“What did he offer you?”

Tomas knows how dangerous it is to play this game. But he needs to know. He needs to.

“Im sorry?”

“What did he offer you?” Tomas takes a step forward.

“What are you going on about-”

“Marcus.” Another step, the name on his lips is a plead. Tomas can recognise just when Marcus realises it too.

“There was nothing that demon could have offered me.”

“Then what did he offer me?”

And for a split second there Marcus looks struck, the emotion flickers before it is shuttered under a blank mask. His lips tighten and Marcus glances away.

“Marcus”

His face falls and in that moment, he looks nothing like the man who stood bloodied and raw, snarled and angry, just hours ago. This Marcus is the one Tomas knows, a solitary man waging war against things beyond him, gambling with the cost of his soul, fighting with every fibre of his being. This Marcus looks tired. As if the years have piled onto him, pressing down on his shoulders, pressing down against the lines around his face.

This Marcus looks as if he was completely alone, drowning in the air, all by himself. Untethered, free yes but, without purpose, without meaning.

“Anything.” Marcus whispers. “He could have offered you everything. _Do you understand me now?”_

Tomas wants to, but he does not.

But neither can he find any lies in the words that Marcus speaks.

From here Tomas can see how it tears him apart, hairline fractures appearing on the surface. There will be a time later on to look at this, feel angry about this, but right now the anger, bow-string taut, loosens until there is nothing there at all. Tomas doesn’t understand it completely, but his head bobs anyways, his lips moves anyways, his heart beats anyways.

“Yes”

-

The clock reads two fifty-three am, and Marcus shows Tomas his hands. Clean, Tomas can see the uniformly cut nails, veined and scarred by years of work. They shake like crisp autumn leaves in the air, the tremors only stopping when he balls them into fists. There is a question in his eyes, lips moving to shape around the syllables.

“Could you-?”

Tomas knowing the answer before Marcus ends it, only nods. Within a moment he’s back in the kitchen again with the first aid in his hand. It strikes Tomas then, how tired Marcus is.

His whole body sags on the stool, an inelegant c shape, forearms on his thighs, fingers shaking.

It reminds him how tired he is too.

He doesn’t even notice how Marcus tenses underneath his touch, fingers skimming the skin underneath the shirt, pulling over his head. Marcus’ bare back greets him again and after the shower he took, Tomas can see that the cuts are not as bad as he initially thought.

Methodically Tomas cleans the wound, wary of how raw the skin might be. A wipe underneath the cut, a wince, a long slow exhale. He puts some betadine on his fingers.

“It was his mistake to ever think he could escape it.”

Tomas pauses, his fingers hovering over the welt. 

"Your priest?"

Marcus turns his head to the left, just a little, so Tomas can hear him better. He nods.

“Arrogance… It's always there. You see it time and time again. When we fail we wonder how we could have ever seen it to be greatness”

Tomas can find no words to reply, but his fingers smooth the ointment over the cut, he hopes that that is enough. It is a streak of stark white against battered freckled skin. Marcus sighs and deflates even more, pressing his back against Tomas’ palm.

“What chance do mortals have if demons were once angels?”

The clock tick-tocks in the background and Tomas can feel Marcus breathe.

“We have some chance, we have good people, kind people. We have you too”

“Hah.” Marcus deadpans.

“I am serious” Tomas feels an inkling of a smile tug on the corner his lips.

“An excommunicated priest with a grudge?” Marcus snorts “Hardly the piecé-de-resistance”

“Sometimes one can be enough. But two is always better”

Tomas applies the last of the bandages, setting them in place with medical tape. The silence becomes so deep that when Marcus speaks again Tomas is very nearly startled.

“Thank you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, this would've been a much more introspective, much more darker chapter on Marcus' past, however, I've decided to leave the heavier things for later. Imagine this as the eye of the storm :) . I would also like to know whether you all would you guys like for the chapters to be longer or leave them as is. Again thank you all for your patience, until next time :)


	3. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been hectic these past few weeks, and coupled with my desire to have a 100% perfect chapter resulted in this very long and unfortunate delay. I hope, nonetheless, that you all enjoy :)

The sun climbs.

The world breathes.

And Tomas runs and runs and runs.

The crisp autumn air bites at his fingers, but he huffs against them, cupping them at his mouth as he paces through his city. When he runs, there is nothing but the next step, the next breath, the next street. 

When he runs there is nothing at all.

By the next block, he runs even faster, pulling his muscles further until he is sprinting, gasping for air. Steady white puffs pass his face. His feet beats a rhythm against the pavement. Within moments his home comes into view, a shadow standing by the door.

The knot in his stomach only tightens when he realises it is Olivia. He bounds up the steps, the burning in his limbs something to focus on.

“Tomas” she smiles at him.

“Hey sis” he grins and guilt climbs up his throat. _Does she know? Will she ever?_ It clings to very corners of his lips, but his smile does not falter. He smiles back, and he is shining, shining, shining.

-

She slumps against the sofa couch, pressing her palms against her cheeks. The coffee that Tomas brought to her sits empty on the counter and her eyebags are almost purplish, like berry stains on her face. But.

But her eyes are bright. Tomas knows that look. Tomas knows hope. When she speaks, she speaks slowly as if considering.

“Do you think you could take care of Luis this Saturday?”

“I’m not-”

“Oh right! you’re working with the parish on Saturdays. How did I forget?” She shakes her head as she stands, prepared to leave but Tomas stops her immediately.

“Chill, _mana_. I can, it’s no problem. I’m not going to the parish this Saturday, it’s fine”

A brief pause, she chews the words.

“This isn’t work-related”

“Yeah, it’s still no problem sis”

She stands again, grinning. Her feet carry her closer to Tomas.

“I’d hug you, really I would, but bro, you stink.”

Tomas rolls his eyes, giving a grin of his own. He crosses his arms as he leans on the doorpost.

“So not work related?”

She smiles ear to ear. “I’m going on a date”

“Someone wants to date my bruja of a sister?”

Olivia smacks him on the arm. Hard. “That was one time. The comb was evil okay?”

“Yeah, yeah”

The words, the conversation is a well worn one. The rhythm of it so ingrained in Tomas, Tomas could speak the words before Olivia can even think of it. It's easy, familiar for a lack of a better word. Tomas needed familiar.

He almost misses her laughter, lost in his thoughts. 

By then Olivia is already grabbing both of their cups, grinning still as she brings it back to the sink. She stops, though when she spots something yellow on the fridge.

“Hey Tomas, what’s this?” Between her fingers she twiddles the post it note. From here, he can see the elegant scrawl of Marcus’ writing. He must have left when Tomas went running.

“Sorry the milk is out.” She reads aloud, laughing.

“Oh Father Marcus. He was staying over” _blood on his hands, on his face. His neck a high rise of colour._ Tomas blinks away the images.

“As in the excommunicated priest?”

“Yes” Tomas nods but then pauses. His eyebrows furrow, lips tightened; there’s something strange in Olivia’s voice.

“What do you mean? He saved Casey”

_Help me. And Tomas does, he lifts the body into a bag, red staining his fingertips. Later he would chase it away with water, scrub it down till its raw._ Tomas doesn’t remember Casey. He remembers the shadow of a body swept away.

She purses her lips, disapproving.

“What are you thinking Olivia?”

“Did he really?” She blurts out, “did he really save her?”

“Yes!” _Yes! he saved them. Yes! I believe he is a good man._

“This why I didn’t go into it. She rolls her eyes, muttering, “Look Tomas you told me he was loco, you told me he was _really_ loco. You said to me that for him this job is all that matters. But can't you see how bad an idea that is mano?”

“He saved her when no one else could.” his voice is incredulous.

“I know-”

“No.” His voice like cut glass. “No Olivia you don’t. If he didn’t, then Casey and all others would have died.”

She pauses and the silence teeters. In her face flashes anger, concern, worry. The only expression that Tomas focuses on is the one that’s scared. Her voice is pitched low, but can hear what she doesn’t say.

“To me mano, it sounds like he needed that exorcism. Just as much as Casey did. And I’m not saying it’s bad, but I’m wondering how far he’ll go to feel right about something, tu me entiendes?”

_You should stay away. Before you get sucked in too._

Tomas wants to laugh because it’s already done. His fate was sealed as soon as he opened the door. But still, something deep inside Tomas’ chest bristles with the thought. His mind whispers soft and sweet, syllables that he still doesn’t understand yet.

_I will be enough._

“Tomas?” She peers up at him, he has missed what she had just said.

“I understand” He lies, and it is with unnerving ease. He breathes it out “okay.”

-

The next day is punctuated by passing faces, the work in the parish, and the words in his sermon. Images rattle around his brain, but inside his chest is a deadly calm. He is committed to this. Tomas will see this through. 

He stays until late, until his eyes begin to burn a little and his feet get ice cold. He hopes that the heating will soon work, that the churchgoers won’t freeze themselves in the pew. Tomas is lucky in that at least the office is much easier to heat.

He packs up, methodical, almost ritualistic in the way he blows out every candle and turns off every appliance. The keys jangle reassuringly in his hands and it is satisfying, when everything is almost done, to be in the presence of his God alone. 

Tomas completely misses the silhouette by the pews.

“She’s right you know” Marcus voice rings clear in the absence of everything else. It ricochets the tall walls of his church, booming, smug. There is a smile in that voice.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit too late for that?”

“Oh I don’t know” His voice is deep, lazy, striking the very core of Tomas, “Is it?”

The words in reply are already in Tomas’ mouth, about the milk, about his home. His lips curls into a smile as he turns, spotting the approaching shadow.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic you know.”

“Oh but where’s the fun in that?” The shadow grins and steps into the light.

It’s not-

Its not him.

“Good evening Tomas” 

Three irises rove over his form. The thing, it, grins and black water spills between its teeth.

“Marcus?”

Its face melds into something much more terrible, twisting sinew rearranging in front Tomas’ very eyes. The demon lets out a gurgling laugh, a noise that drives ice up his spine. Then the realisation hits him like a lightning bolt. 

Tomas very nearly stumbles back.

“Oh, you’re a clever one you. I see why Marcus likes you so much.” It bows a little, “Father Cathal, Marcus’ former priest, at your service”

The voice, it is melodic, lilting with every word, deep like it’s humming almost. It is like clashing gears, and scraping nails and the constant breaking of a note. It is divine. It soft and harsh in equal parts. It is inhuman. It is _awful_. Everything stills with that voice, the lights that Tomas didn’t turn off, flicker. The pit beneath Tomas’ sternum grows, and it threatens to takes everything with it.

It moves closer and closer to Tomas, suddenly serious. “I’m here to send a message. Marcus has always been stubborn, but you. You're willing to listen”

“And what makes you say that?” Tomas’ hands itches for the book of canticles back in his room. He tries to slow his beating heart by taking long breaths. It does not work.

“I can tell you’re curious.”

“Marcus told me everything”

The thing smirks at him. Its three irises begin to rove over his form, assessing, piercing.

“You’re a loyal one to think that Marcus told you everything.”

“What is there but trust in a partnership?”

“Lies by omission. Lying outright in Marcus' case”

“I know what you are trying to do. It will not work”

It smiles, dangerous.

" _Won’t it?_ ” It tilts its head, a parody of what Marcus does. There is fire underneath the silence between them, a promise of violence, a threat. Then the demon breaks it, short, to the point.

“When he murdered me, Tomas," It grins and it's teeth look like cut glass. "I felt nothing. _Nothing from him._ Not rage. Not anger. Not fear. You could almost say he was not… human.”

Tomas says nothing, lets the words sink into his mind. He does not know whether to believe them or not, but Tomas knows this; To speak would be to fail, and he will not fail. 

The demon’s expression turns cold, blank, its eyes slant at Tomas. All the light in the room is sucked out, shadows swarming and licking up the walls. It pulls closer into Tomas space, a half metre between them.

“Offers are tricky things. Reciprocal. But consider this an act of goodwill.”

It leans into Tomas, bare heat beside his ear. “Tell Marcus the gates are rusting and the rules are loosening. Tell him I was here. And tell him to keep looking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets get the party staaaarted wooop wooooo. As always comments, especially concrit appreciated :)


	4. False Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys, I had entered a slump in writing this. Nonetheless I hope you enjoy :)

It smiles and Tomas can feel it.

“Have a good evening Tomas”

It smiles and the world _snaps._

And just like that the demon disappears. It is like a cutscene split and spliced from a film. A whisper trail on the thread of memory. 

Something cold and intangible fills Tomas, the word escaping him

He stares at the open door, the breeze brushing against his skin, The muted tones of the street light pouring in from the outside. He can hear the distant thrum of cars moving to their destinations, it's not a vacuous gaping silence like before.

He trembles in the space left. 

Shock. 

That is the word. The world restarts with it mad and uncontainable, the feeling of panic exploding in Tomas chest. 

His knees buckle and he falls to the floor.

He feels it then, feels it all.

That high relief, and heavy pressing feeling of failure. Anger. Betrayal. Everything. His body can’t bare it and it shakes and trembles and slowly, Tomas can feel himself fall apart. 

He sees it, every wrong action, every fault. In his mind he stands in front of the burning nunnery, their screams not once stopping. Stands in front of Angela, Casey, their faces torn, the demon always winning. He thinks of all the people that have died because of them, those first eleven, brothers and mothers and fathers and sisters. He thinks of Olivia and her disgust, or worse her tolerance to this. Most of all he thinks of Marcus. Marcus killing him with his bare hands, looking at him dispassionately.

He thinks of himself allowing it.

“Tomas!”

A silhouette appears at the open door and Tomas feels the urge to scramble back and run. But he can’t. His limbs feel awkward and clunky and it is like he is all of this from a tv. He is kneeling, vulnerable, pathetic and the man that runs towards his might be the very one that kills him. 

Then a hot hand presses onto his shoulder, and suddenly awareness floods him, heady and intoxicating. The smell of soap and outside mingles together and Tomas breathes it all in, like sharp cold winter air.

“Tomas tell me what you need” Burning hands cradle his face, as if they’re fragile. Tomas thinks they might be.

“Tomas look at me please,”

_He can’t. He can’t. He can’t._

“Tomas” a breath against his cheek “tell me what you need”

He can’t look at him, because then he’ll remember. He’ll remember what he’s done, who he’s lied to, Tomas will remember everything again.

Tomas hates the way he wants to. He hates the fact that the dark warm arms that wrap around him, are not enough. They grip him too delicately, feels like they’re afraid and Tomas wants them to real and solid and painful. 

Tomas doesn’t know what he needs, but he wants this.

So he falls into the dark heat, pulls the burning hands against his own. His head meets the chest he knows is there and hears that steady heartbeat, that steady _lub dub lub dub._

_This._

Feels callused fingers intertwined with his own, tightly woven. Tomas does not know where he ends and begins.

_And this._

The whispers of I’m here, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, like frantic prayers begging for something, the accent curling around the syllables. Strung out and loose and faded in Tomas’ consciousness.

_And this._

“I’m so sorry” Marcus whispers

He wants all of it. And it may not be what Tomas needs but there has always been a fine line between them. A sob finally wracks through his body.

This is enough.

-

When he remembers the day after, the memories of it will be like tracing paper over a foglight, overlapping one another, dancing in and out of space. Circling.

“You’ve been lying to me”

“Yes” Marcus speaks plainly, setting down the grocery bag.

Dawn is just beginning outside, the birds making their winter call. Tomas had woken up to the sound of Marcus opening the front door, he looks to him then, half a room away and moving. From his seat by the sofa can’t help noticing Marcus’ arms, the way skin fairer on this inside of his arm, delicate tendons moving to pick the groceries. In his hand, a milk carton. He puts it inside of Tomas’ fridge.

“What did it mean?”

“I haven’t read the text for a long time” Marcus scratches his eyebrows with his thumb, “but the gates and the rules mean the same thing. A code of conduct. Demons can’t enter a church without consent, it knew that. It wanted to make a statement”

“So what do we do?”

A bark of laughter.

“It’s what I have to do. Not we.” Marcus turns back at him then, eyes soft “I was looking for Cathal’s contract piece. It’s the thing that keeps it tethered when it doesn’t have a vessel, ouija boards, spiritual paraphernalia, clothes even. It makes them weaker and stronger at the same.” He sighs “If we could get that then the demon will stop coming back. It’s both stupid and reckless and Tomas, hate to admit it, you are neither of those.”

Tomas feels a bare hint of a smile crawl up his face, but worry gnaws at the edge of his mind.

“You said it yourself, the rules of the games are changing, you can’t be alone in this”

“I can and I will.” The words suddenly cold, brooking no argument. It feels like a door slammed shut. It feels like a mistake. For a moment the rhythm of life resumes, Marcus continuing to unload whatever he’s bought. The grocery bag crinkling, a few steps, a thud on a counter or shelf. Rinse and repeat.

“Why are you keeping me out?” Tomas’ words half frustrated, half confused. He looks up to Marcus but their eyes do not meet.

There’s a stillness there that Tomas doesn’t like. Not tension, not anger, nothing. Just stillness. When Marcus finally looks to him, Tomas wishes he hadn’t. Because those eyes are on him and only on him. It feels like they’re reaching into Tomas, climbing into his chest and pulling his lungs out.

“It could’ve killed you. Next time it will.”

“So you ask me for blind faith, and now you are shunning me?” Tomas hates the way his voice goes high and incredulous. Tomas stands and moves closer to Marcus. As if it’s inevitable, as if it’s unavoidable.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way-”

“Which part, hiding the body or the demon coming back to life? Or is it the lies and how you’re lying to me now?”

“You know this isn’t about that.” Marcus voice deadpan and dangerous.

“ Do you think can pick and choose who you are? Do you think this is a _game?!_ ” Once Tomas starts he cannot stop, the words fly out of his mouth and Tomas hopes that they hurt. “Because to that demon it is. It always is. _This, you, me, us._ ” Four words, staccato, like gunshots. “We are keeping things from each other and it is waiting for us to tear each other apart.”

“I’m doing this to protect you! Can’t you see that?!” Marcus suddenly angry. Suddenly breathless. “ It’s a pandora bloody box, the only way you win is keeping that lid closed. So please I beg you, do not make me open it”

Tomas looks at him then, eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly parted. His chest heaves and Tomas can hear the loud breaths he takes.

He is the perfect image of desperation made in human form. Tomas can’t look away.

“Its voice was your voice.” and Tomas hates this, every word he has to say about it “And that demon looked like you, talked like you, _knew_ you.”

Tomas pauses, running his fingers through his hair. Wonders if he’s like a mirror to Marcus, desperation climbing up his voice.

“I can’t handle any more lies, any more illusions”

“Tomas” Marcus speaks and it so soft, so quiet, it’s a wonder that Tomas can hear it.

It hits him then. How close they are.

They’re closer than before, scant inches from each other. Distantly he wonders how on earth they’ve come to this, but that thought is erased with the sensation of Marcus fingers. They are like bright spots of heat dragging across his skin, curling around the nape of his neck. The palm comes then his thumb, resting right below his ear. Tomas breath hitches, heart racing. 

Still, Marcus presses, closer than Tomas would ever dare to. 

“I’m sorry. I keep fucking this up”

Tomas can’t help but laugh, heads knocking together just a little.

“I’m glad to see you agree, _querido_ ” 

And Tomas laughs even harder, the bright feeling lifting him, and sparks going down his spine. Marcus whispers those words out with his usual sarcasm, except nothing about it is usual. Not with the way his voice is barely above a whisper, low and sweet, breath fanning over him.

This close it’s hard to see whether Marcus smiles, but Tomas can hear it.

“I’m real Tomas. I'm real”

Outside it begins to rain.

“Then show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of suffered a slump in my interest for this pairing, mostly due to the wide break I had taken from it. I had written 3 massive rewrites for this chapter but I wasn't really happy with either of them. The first had a deus ex machina, the second one was tonally off and third one just felt odd and clunky. I'm truly sorry if the quality dropped in this chapter, and I thank you all so much for your continual support! It means the world to me seeing your comments and tellin me I ain't like writing bs. Just thank you thank you thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any concrit then please don't be afraid to share below, it is all welcome :) I'll be publishing chapters weekly


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